


'cause baby you look happier (you do)

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Horrendous Sap, M/M, Moving circa 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 08:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10895517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: Dan looks out the window at the flashing London lights, somewhere he hears the neighbour’s dog bark and the faint sounds of Graham Norton on the telly.Or, moving with Dan and Phil.





	'cause baby you look happier (you do)

**Author's Note:**

> hiii hello im mentally exhausted from weeks of revision so hope you accept this three-week-late fic with all its shortcomings :) -- also, i reference the fic preceding it a bit in this story, so i've linked to it below if you're interested!  
>  __  
> [the unsuspecting prequel i wrote a year ago](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8877922)  
> 

 

Even if they do decide on house-buying somewhere late 2015 — Phil’s hand wrapped around Dan’s dick; lovely in the rising Sun — it’s only somewhere in 2017 that they actually _do_ anything about it. 

Procrastinators and all.

 

 -

 

You see, the thing about moving is: it’s bloody _hard_. First there’s the packing, right, then the moaning about which things to leave behind (and Phil’s always like, _oh but remember when we used this that one time—_ and they end up bringing everything anyway) and later it ends with the fucking at two a.m. because they think they _deserve_ it. Ok, well, everything besides _that_ is ridiculously difficult.

At least, that’s what happened the first time round. London-bound and young and stupid and fucking terrified of the future. What would happen to _them_ if YouTube imploded and they’d be forced out on the streets and scavenging for food.  

Phil laughed when Dan told him this; Dan pouted for days.

These are all _legitimate_ fears, he remembers thinking, even as his subscribers began to skyrocket; a hundred thousand, a million. But, the root of the fear was _simple_ , which was exactly why it was so difficult to think about. 

And it was this:

What if Phil leaves _him._ If Phil, one day, decides that he’s had enough of Dan’s overthinking and constant worrying and finds someone _better_ in the city. Someone better at Radio One or a YouTuber who doesn’t spend two thirds of his time just _planning_ a video. What if Phil finds someone like that.

A voice tells him, somewhere near the cerebrum where most problems of his lie, _Phil’s seen you through the ugly crying of university, you’re fine._ And the other says, ominous, _don’t let Phil get away._

Which is why, through the moving and the _2012s_ of the world, Dan tried so hard to do exactly _that_. Not let Phil get away, not let their relationship get _less_ personal, and Dan deciding early on that this, this, can’t go public, Phil. We can’t let that happen. 

And Phil didn’t really understand but nodded and smiled a bit watery and said, _whatever you want._ And through the moving and the 2012s of the world, Dan also realised this: that Phil might be just _as_ scared of losing him as the eerie voices, twelve a.m., blaring loud in his cerebrum.

And the new London flat, over time, also began to symbolise all of the above. First, the shiny exterior— too many steps and the flimsy excitement of _London, Phil —_ then came the cracks in the tiles from plates crashing and bedroom doors slamming wildly and scratches on the walls, and finally, finally, to the constancy of a real _home,_ DVDs and soft plush toys and spine-creased sofas. 

The house symbolises _them_ , which is why a 2015 decision only becomes a 2017 reality, and a home is hesitantly left behind. 

 

-

 

Dan decides somewhat, after Australia, when the drilling gets louder (he’s almost sure the neighbours are mocking them at this point), that it’s _time_. 

But it’s not really _that_ , and it’s not the fifth message he gets on YouNow about moving either. It’s a vignette of particularly random moments: eyes catching on the ten books in the corner without space to store them, trailing his hand over the twenty pound sofa he sits on, then the thousand pound television with surround sound. 

They’re getting too big for this house, he realises absently, and he thinks that maybe Phil feels the same. Judging from the way Phil tuts at the mess in the corner and the way he almost trips over the giant big Dil head lying in their hallway in his haste to get his hands down Dan’s pants. Phil can only blame himself for that one, honestly.  

And so, Dan says eventually, _hey, remember about the house,_ and Phil’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas and it’s so fucking endearing that it takes Dan’s breath away a little bit. 

Because Phil just looks so _happy,_ maybe it’s because _Dan’s_ initiating it this time, but it’s also maybe the security of being able to actually buy a new _house_ together that is getting him all giddy. 

Phil’s always been a sucker for financial stability or whatever thirty year-olds find _vibey_ these days. 

But Dan kisses him, and kisses him, and true to plot, it’s the actively looking part that comes next. 

 

-

 

Phil flops down on his belly, over Dan’s legs and sighs. One of those bad sighs, not a your-dick-is-so-close-to-my-face ones that would eventually lead to a nice romp in bed. Not that Dan’s particularly averse to that at the moment, but Phil starts whining and ruins the mood effectively.

“The hoouuse, _Dannn_ ,” Phil groans, muffled in the cotton of Dan’s shorts. And Dan knew Phil had been looking, but not nearly enough to warrant complaints _already._

Phil wants, has always wanted, so many things in a house. In the beginning, when they were barely in their twenties and Dan’s head pillowed on Phil’s chest, he’d thread stories of koi ponds and glass windows so, as Phil put it then, they’d be able to fuck with all of Manchester at their behest. 

And Dan would laugh, trace patterns on his chest and say, _one day._

Even now, as their wealth has quadrupled since then and they’d be able to afford something _better,_ at least, Dan doesn’t really think their _one day_ is here. Not yet. Not when they’ve still got all these loose strings to tie up with this world they’ve created, not when they haven’t properly, publicly, _said_ how much the other means to them. 

One day seems more than a little far off still.

Phil’s still ranting a bit and Dan’s soothing fingers are pressing into the base of his skull reassuringly when he says, barely a whisper, “Not our _forever home_.”

Phil stops, turns and asks. “What?”

Dan looks out the window at the flashing London lights, somewhere he hears the neighbour’s dog bark and the faint sounds of Graham Norton on the telly.

“This won’t be our _forever home_ yet, Phil; more of a temporary living place, if you’re amendable,” he says, and Phil looks confused, a bit.

Sad, mostly, the furrow in his brow. Because he probably thought Dan was _serious_ when he agreed to settle down, that he’d also _want_ the house, koi pond and all: kids with Muggle Quidditch in the garden and them cuddled around each other after a long day. 

“Soon,” Dan replies to the silent question, gentle pats along Phil’s spine. 

They breathe.

“We’ll get the house, once we decide to get that dog, and have that lavish wedding in Okinawa, under those cherry blossoms and Kanye serenading us,” Dan coughs, Phil snorts, and, “we’ll look for our _forever home_ when there’s _more_ of a forever for us to look forward to.” 

Phil smiles, always watery when big decisions are made, and reaches up to kiss him square on the lips, sweet and soft. 

He looks relieved of the weight of the world on his shoulders, and nods, looks ready for new possibilities, if that apartment down south in Greenwich was still up for viewing. 

For now, though, they smile and think, far-off,  _forever home._

 

_-_

 

As it turns out, the apartment in Greenwich becomes the duplex in Islington and it’s a perfect enough temporary living space than they’d initially expected. Four bedrooms and a brilliant view of West London at their feet. A glass wall that serves no purpose than to fulfil part of Phil’s fantasy, at least. 

The garden is nice enough for their potted plants to thrive (no more than usual, Phil jokes) and a fantastic lack of drilling in the nearby area. 

It’s almost too nice, a hazy dream even as they sign the rent agreement and are handed the keys to their _new_ place. So much nicer, and surprisingly apt for how much they’ve gone through, and how far they’ll _go_. 

And so they pack their flat into boxes, and more boxes, and there’s also fucking: loud and obnoxious about it. They debate if they should bring their sofa crease along with them, and Phil laughs, _nice reminder of the flat, yeah? —_ and it really, really is. 

They do it all discreetly, their audience _knowing_ but _not really knowing,_ because what’s better than dropping a bomb one fine Wednesday as they’re holidaying in Singapore: they clink champagne glasses to toast a job well done.

They get back, and from Heathrow they go straight to their flat for the last time; tired but the familiarity of soft carpets and cracks in the ceiling comforting all the same. 

Dan takes one good look around, looks at the little nook in the wall above that he’d stare at when contemplating every decision he’s ever made, at the paint splatter across the window from Dan’s brief stint at _modern art_. At the piano and his gaze catches on the sock drawer where he’d been keeping Phil’s ring since early 2016 for when the _forever home_ comes and smiles. At all of it. 

Phil comes up behind him and loops his arms around Dan’s waist and inhales the scent of utter happiness and no regrets. It’s a nice feeling and he imagines 2012 Dan with his shoddy haircut and insecurities, the 2014 Dan, slightly less dramatic with his woes, and _this_ Dan, with a soulmate and a lifetime of adventures ahead of him.

He’s grown up in this house; in height, love, experience, fashion sense; in all the ways that matter. He will miss this house for what it was, always will, but the pressure around his waist reminds him of the brighter prospects of tomorrow. 

Later when they lock up, hand the worn keys to their landlord and awkwardly try to apologise for the mess they’ve made, the man just pats them on the back and wishes them luck. _Hope the video thing goes well for you_ , like he completely missed the three tours they went on because of it. 

But they laugh and walk out arm-in-arm, Sun shining so brightly over them. 

 

And it ends how it starts, “Hey Phil, let’s go home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back on the socials so you can find me on twitter or tumblr @phanetixs to chat :) i'd be really happy to read what you have to say below, too, if you have a moment to spare!
> 
> thanks & see you post-exams, i guess :)


End file.
